Stewart, Please!
by blinks
Summary: After a night of messing around in Mefestio's lab, Kyle gets into a freak accident, turning himself into a girl. Now he must face the daily life of the average teenage girl; boys, make-up, shoes, health issues and romance. Genderbent!Kyle.
1. 17th May, 2005

**Chapter One – Major Swearing.**

17th May, 2005.

For my mother, I am writing a diary, this diary to be exact. Not that I really get a choice, she handed me this thick leather pad and informed me of what to do with it. She wants me to compare my 'old' life with my 'new.'

This is where I should explain, but first I will introduce myself, as that seems to be the thing you do when you begin a diary, right?

My name is Kyle Broflovski, or well was, I still have the Broflovski, unfortunately. My new name is Kyla, as simple and ugly as it is, it means victorious in Hebrew. Yet, this whole situation isn't victorious at all, unless you look at it from Kenny's point of view. Which I suggest you don't. Ever.

Yet, this is the situation at hand – if you haven't already figured it out – _I'm a girl. _Yeah, fun.** No.** I have had numerous girls dragging me around South Park's centre, making me buy stupid things like makeup, skirts and thigh highs. Thigh highs socks? I swear you only wear them if you do porn, but no, I now have about fifty pairs of them. Let's not even get onto my bras and Knickers. I am making that rule number one of this diary:

1. No talking about underwear (socks included).

It's because of Cartman and his fucking stupid plans. Fuck you, Cartman. I am _so _done with _you_.

**_Part One._**

I know it's not the most fabulous title you've probably heard, but this isn't fiction, it's a part of me, I suppose.

I was at Stan's, as per usual, we were playing on his PSX (which is **the shit**, if I can say) and Cartman and Kenny come knocking, talking us into this great plan to screw with Garrison, being the fucking spunk heads we are we decided_ "yeah, let's go on a own fucking adventure to fuck up Garrison's life._"

I'd apologise for the language but to be honest, I am so angry, that I couldn't possibly give less of a shit right now.

So we arrived on Mephisto's place, which is gigantic, the building is bigger than the town hall, and could probably rival our local hospital, Hell Pass. Although there isn't much greenery as the tall grey building hogs too much space.

None of us had really made it past the first room, because of rumours that Mephisto he hides deformed creatures that he has made inside, some with four giant fearful heads, and others with more than three sets of razor sharp teeth. The rumours had probably been created to scare unwanted trespassers, such as us. Yet, I pushed back all of the dreadful adrenaline that pumped through my veins and walked through the wicked archway that greeted us.

A thick distinct scent lingered throughout the place, not something you could identify with an object, but recognise. It's probably useless describing it as anything other than bleach and honey.

We wandered deeper and deeper into the building, coming across nothing but a lizard with a mutated wart where his bottom was. Yeah, we moved on pretty quickly after we saw that.

Soon, we entered a large hall, probably a room once used for holding balls, now in the centre stood a grand piece of machinery. I say grand, but I don't know how to explain it. Next to the 'grand' machinery stood a cage – well, when I say cage I mean more a section of flooring caged off – somehow, Cartman had lured me inside, better yet – I had gotten trapped inside.

Which to him, must had been fucking hilarious. It wasn't. Not one tiny _little_ bit.

I've decided that rule number two is going to be:

2. Talk about Eric Theodore Cartman as little as possible.

Kenny lent on the switch board, booting the machine up and before anything could be done; it shoot fire at me. It wasn't a bullet, nor a dart or arrow. It was a laser, pumping a thick red beam at me. It struck me instantly and brought me to the floor with an ear rattling scream.

I felt like I was being electrocuted, which I presumed I was at first. I felt the currents pump throughout my body, it stung as if I was slowly melting away. I jolted around before the pain became a screeching burn, I was jerking about, my body unable to control the bursts of radiation sprouting within me.

I heard them screaming my name, the cage rattling with their weight as they climbed over, but soon all the lasers cut out, I began to spasm, before blacking out completely.

What I awoke to was a quiet beep, it was stable and repetitive, but became annoying quickly, ripping numerous leads of my body before the beeping cut out. I grumped and turned over, not enjoying the thinness of my duvet. But then it hit; I shot up, breathing heavily. I began to examine the small box size suite, a small sink sat in the far corner, and a few seats loitered empty space surround the bed.

The door swung, revealing a nurse. She seemed pleased to see me up, she pressed a button by the door before waltzing over to me and planting herself gracefully onto a ripped blue seat.

"Kyle, I am glad to see you awake, you're lucky to be alive."

I managed to croak out a: "What happened to me?" before she told me in elaborated detail (which I'm not going to write because I can sum it up in two sentences) The lasers simmered all of my reproductive organs, also causing me to produce other ones, some other shit and I'm now a girl.

She tried to ask me what had happened to cause this, but I shook her off, my parents stood in the doorway, reassuring smiles and thankful tears filled their cheeks. Behind them stood the boys, looking greatful.

If we fast forward two hours, my hairs grown an inch, I've lost an inch in height, and I can barely keep my eyes open. Mephisto has shown up and is explaining to everyone that I am a girl. Except _funny_ story that's I've only just clocked onto – they believe it's just external change, and when I become an adult, sex change will be my way of turning back.

With all the hope in their eyes, I daren't tell them it's not an option. They left as the nurse injected me with a sedative. Needless to say – I had a great night's sleep.

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><p><strong>I've decided to rewrite 'Diary Of a Genderband' so this is the new re-written version. If you can deal with a crappy version, the old ones still up. Well, for now. <strong>

**What are your thoughts and feelings on the new version? Got a better title, summary? I'd love to hear you ideas! **

**(Wee pointer that I changed my pen name from Craigandthoseguys to Kirklame)**


	2. 25th May, 2005

**Chapter Two. **

25th May, 2005.

After successfully ignoring you for almost a week, my mother managed to get me to fill you out again. Forcing me to sit at the table until it was completed, "Memories, memories!" she blabbed on, and she also decided that I should name you. Which is stupid, because you're a diary. But, do you know what's even stupider? Me referring to _this diary _as a being. But none the less, I've decided to call you Steward, on the purposes of keeping my mother happy.

This _is_ stupid.

After being discharged the following morning, my mother took a detour, heading straight into the centre of town. If you haven't clocked on, the town is small and news travels fast. So when I arrived in my all perky glory, people openly starred.

Kenny had given me his smallest shirt, as even Stan's smallest was too large and Cartman was out the question. Stan had given me some tracksuit bottoms, which hung to my hips comfortably after drawing the strings so tight together that the fabric began to ripple.

With my brother's shoes on, we trekked around the town centre for a good half an hour, and collect bits and pieces that were 'essential' although, I really don't think a Sunday dress was really _that_ essential.

I bumped into Craig before we left, "Nice getup, Broflovski" he called after me, and all I could do was tut angrily.

I might have forgotten to mention, that it's my birthday tomorrow, which probably makes everything more stressful for my parents as they will want to get me_ girlier _things, like make-up and perfume, and pop music CD's. Which I guess don't sound that bad, but after spending the last 16 years as a boy, sounds terrifying. Especially, perfume and make-up doesn't aspire to me, hair products only make my hair look greasy – I mean good luck trying to sort my mane out – and I'm more of a _My chemical Romance_,_ Bowling For Soup_, sort of guy. Girl. Sort of girl. _Ergh_.

Now, Steward, don't go calling me things, but I really don't want to make friends with the girls. I've decided not to. I've also decided that I do not want to be friends with Craig _Mother Fucking _Tucker.

But sometimes you cannot pick your friends. I suppose, Stew, this is one of those times.

Now, if you thought walking into school with a skirt on – as your mother had made you – was bad enough. Along with stares and an overprotective Stan. Then it was nothing compared to sitting down next to Craig.

I figured rule number three:

3. Make sure to mention that Craig is an arsehole whenever you can.

**_Part Two._**

After sitting down rather restlessly, I was faced with Craig Tucker; local _bad boy_ and former prankster. _Oh, and major arsehole_. He slumped down his seat rather ungracefully. Turning to me with the larger smile plastered on his cheeks. "So" He begins, quietly enough that the teacher doesn't hear, but loud enough that I can hear his fucking stupid nasally voice. "I heard you had a rather fun run in with a sex change"

"Oh, shut the fuck up." I sneer, but honestly, if the only thing I can do is get angry, I better laugh. So I did just that, muttering: "Can't you tell I'm already having way too much fun with this?" Pointing my skirt as if to exaggerate.

"I think I'm missing out" He frowned playfully. I nodded back, smiling widely.

"Oh, you bet your sweet arse you are!" He chuckled. The lesson began and I began to take notes, not bothered if the conversation would continue or not.

Soon, he leaned over, with the same nasally voice whispering in my ear. "How did it actually happen?"

"Cartman."

"Cartman?

"Cartman." (Dammit, I said I wouldn't mention him, but there he is, his name written three times in a row in my book.)

"How am I not surprised?"

"Because it's Cartman."

"Probably. You know, you're not actually telling how it happened, just who did it to you."

"I was in a cage, and lasers shot at me" I laughed, leaning towards him, as not to be heard by the teacher. I told him everything the nurse told me, not in as elaborate detail but somewhere near too.

"Hold up" he interrupted, "You mean to tell me, that you're a girl on the inside too, but Stan doesn't know? Oh _God,_ that's comedy gold!"

We proceeded to waste the rest of the lesson talking about useless things before the bell rang and break had started, we had begun to walk to the lunch hall together before I was spotted by Bebe and Wendy and dragged helplessly into the girl's bathroom. And Steward, I mean dragged. The offered to help me and give me a transformation.

It was more of them wanting to doll me up, than transform me, but never the less I complied.

I'm going around the day after my birthday they're going to call it a party, help me 'adjust' into the lifestyle. But it sounds like they'll mock me a bit, make me look like a tart and send me home.

Thank god for make-up wipes and my secret stack of boy clothes.

* * *

><p><strong>How are you feeling about this, because I'm feeling pretty good about this so far.<strong>


	3. 27th May, 2005

**Chapter Three.**

27th of May, 2005.

Hey Steward.

My birthday wasn't much of a success, I mostly received vouchers and small pieces. But she had managed to get a hold of some nice bits and pieces. Mostly makeup and hair tools. That's what I like to call them because they're like tools for your hair.

Oh. Yeah, remember my 'super secret' stack of boy clothes? Yeah, well they apparently aren't so secret. My mother had disposed of them whilst I was at Red's, getting caked in makeup and skimpy clothes that offer no warmth. It was all to form fitting, almost giving me a figure I don't have, or at least didn't know of.

Red's wasn't much of a success.

We listened to the charts until I told them I didn't know half of these songs. Some of the girls looked at me with disappointment, as if it was must to listen to the charts. When I was persuaded into sharing my music, other girls looked generally scared. Although you would've thought, Stew that at least one of them would know who Arctic Monkeys were. Or have even heard of Guns and Roses, don't get me started on Nirvana.

At least Kenny and Craig share the same music taste as I do. Stan mostly listens to the charts, be he can deal with mine and Kenny's tastes, and Cartman? Let's just say that Cartman is an _ABBA_ _boy_.

I guess that brings us to Part Three, huh. You Steward are a lucky man. Well, if you was a man (which neither are at the moment, but don't worry). But either way you are going to be the first to hear of my adventures in a girl's world.

Or what I like to call; The (eye)Shadow Realm.

_Part Three._

With a click of Ma's car door, I was greeted by the brisk winter air of South Park. Not that I'm out to enjoy it for long, quickly ushered inside by Red's Mother; Louisa. With my bag discarded and a warm cup of coffee in my hand, I make my way down the stairs to face the girls. Who are all singing, dancing and talking to one another. They give me hugs and quick 'happy birthdays' before resuming whatever they were doing.

My feet take me to Wendy, who smiles warmly and embraces me, she pulls back, struggling to get a hair of her lip. "First order of business, that hair!" She plays with it before leading me to a small desk set up in the corner, a mirror planted to the wall and straightens waiting to be used. She begins to brush through my mane. Bebe joins us and laughs at my discomfort.

Soon, my hair is a frizzy brushed mess, with parts straightened and others pinned up, Bebe is doing my nails and Nicole joined to plaster stuff on my face.

_Why did I come again?_ Oh, yeah. I remember now. Because I can't refuse them.

Like I can't refuse them when they ask me to try some outfits on, I cannot also refuse when they want to put make up on me and cake me in perfume.

None the less, I return to the car looking dolled up. My ma is a mix between overjoyed and confused. She tells me I look beautiful and I should try to make myself look like this more often. She also makes a point of telling me that my friends won't leave until I open their damn presents.

Which I do, after much discomfort.

"Kyla, why do you look like that?"

"Wow, Ky. Uh, you look… cool."

"Finally, Jew Fag's home, open my present so I can get out of this shithole."

You know, the usual.

I open Cartman's first, thanking him for the perfume which his mum made him buy as he did this to me. _You know, Stew, the girl thing. Yeah, that one_. He leaves immediately after, grumbling a "Fuck you guys" as we part ways. He closes the door with a standard thunk.

Next, Kenny's is my hand, he wiggles his eyebrows inappropriately before I unwrap it. Watercolour paints and a watercolour book. I thank him with a quick hug. He smiles that Kenny McCormick smile and lets me move onto Stan. Between the guitar and Hebrew books and the four holiday tickets. I'm thrilled. He looks so overjoyed and Kenny looks annoyed. But perks immediately after hearing a free holiday might be in order for him.

We chat mindlessly for a while, none of them daring to bring up why I look like I do, as I haven't told them about where I previously was. Or who exactly was I with.

Somewhere between talking about badly scripted porn and Cartman's nose I decide that I should tell them about my little issue.

But, it's okay if you forgot Stewart, as I am going to remind you.

"Guys, I need to quickly remind you of something quickly, because I don't know if you have realised or not and I didn't really, _well,_ up until now how to tell yo-"

"Shut up and tell us Ky. You're drowning on again."

Gee, thanks Ken.

"Remember that one time where I developed these" I gesture my boobs. Kenny looks like he's going to give a cheeky reply but I cut him off. "There is no way of reversing it."

"What do you mean? Have you seen Garrison? I mean he's had several sex changes! We'll just get you one and _boom!_ You're back to normal."

"No, Stan. It doesn't work that way. Before you guys came in the nurse told me that I'm a girl inside too, like; I have a uterus and shit. So, sex change is completely out of the question and I am stuck like this."

Stan's face drops, he looks both lost and mortified. He sighs deeply, lowering his head and rubbing his temples slowly. With a quick rub over his mouth he leans on his hand looking at me "Really?" he questions solemnly.

I nod, not entirely sure why he acting this way. But, hey. It _is_ Stan; over emotional pussy whom happens to be my super best friend. The idea of him finding out he wasn't the first to know flashes through my mind and I know he'd be even more upset if I'm not the one to inform him.

"Other than my family and Craig, no one else knows." I mention trying to lean of the subject completely.

"Craig?" They both question. Up until now Kenny has been oddly quiet, although he enjoys cheeky innuendos, he knows when he should sit up and shut up.

"Why does Craig know?" Stan continues.

_Fucking dick move on my part, dammit. This is all Craig the Arsehole's fault. _

"Uh, we we're talking about it in school because he wanted to know what happened and yeah. It kinda slipped?"

"Whatever, Craig's a dick." Steward. This is _Bad. Bad with a capital B. _

Kenny's quick to change the subject and Stan's quicker to conceal his hurt, which is stupid if you ask me, which you shouldn't.

_Guys_ are dicks.

* * *

><p><strong>So what are you guys thinking so far? Review please!<strong>

**I have an idea of what size I think she is, (UK) 8 for her top half and (UK) 10 for her bottom. Like she's slim and lean but slightly flat chested but great bum.**

**Size guide for viewers: **

**European 36 38 **

**UK 8 10 **

**USA 6 8 **


	4. 10th June, 2005

**Chapter Four. **

10th June 2005.

I may have missed the first day of the month, but pinch punch tenth day of the month.

The arsehole and I are talking a lot lately, by areshole, I mean Craig; yet, I have to abide by my rules, right?

No talking about underwear (socks included)

Try to talk about Eric Theodore Cartman as little as possible.

Try to mention Craig is an arsehole whenever possible.

I'd say the two of us are getting pretty close. If you want to think like that, we talk and sit together sometimes, waste lessons talking to one another and Craig has taken up few of his old pranking habits.

Steward, don't you _dare_ blame me.

Stan's anger simmer down in the next few days and he doesn't really care now, accepting Craig when he sits with us or I jump ships and sit with him, we sometimes walk home together seeing as our houses aren't that far apart.

None the less, Stan apologised. Which was surprising seeing as I hadn't thought he was do anything wrong, well – apart from being a little dicky. He said he should have been supportive and not acted the way he did. Either way, I gracefully accepted.

School works becoming aggressive as the school nears its close and exams are ready to be taken and cried over.

Rule number four:

Forbidden to talk about exams/schoolwork.

I'm getting into the habit of makeup and hair stuff, managing (barely) to maintain my hair. I've tried to start wearing warmer but prettier clothes which are fun and I think people are forgetting there ever was an old me, isn't that great? Haha, no.

I think I am finally adjusting. I mean; I'm used to the whole, walking down the stairs all weirdly because your boobs jiggle, and looking up at your male friends who used to be the same height as you were and being called a slut by jealous girls. I think I've finally adjusted.

Probably not.

Craig got Clyde to invite me to his annual birthday party, which partakes in drinking games, sexual themes and little clothing. I've never been invited before – well I have, I just never wanted to go – but after mulling it over in my head, I _kind of_ need a pick me up. I am going to get comfortable like this and I am going to _thrive. _I've decided that this party is how I am going to achieve doing so.

Stan, Kenny and Cartman will go as per usual; doing shots deep into the night before parting ways, Stan linked with Wendy, Kenny with a random being, and Cartman will be trying to convince Butters to have sex with him, you know _'for the laughs'._

The girls will wear skimpier clothing than they do to 'dress down' days at school. They will then proceed to try and hook up with a guy, whilst getting intoxicated.

Most people will play games such as spin the bottle and seven minutes in heaven, cut down to one because they're impatient. Once they're over people will start drinking games in a big semicircle and everyone will awake to a limp body lying next to them, a raging headache that can't seem to slide and little orientation.

None the less I am going to flourish off this night (Which is tonight, dare I mention), I will also make sure I **not **wake up to some idiot, and a hangover from hell.

Mostly though, I will make sure my mother never finds out I was at a party that offered alcohol and possibly drugs.

_Stewart! She is not a bitch, she is just protective!_

On the forth Craig came round mine to discuss this agreement that he had set up in his head, he would walk to mine, give my mother a good excuse and pick me up. Together we would walk to Clyde's and spending the night becoming lighter and funnier, until the morning came where he would get his mother to drop me home and once again give another excuse to my mum.

Convincing, _huh_.

"Why do you suddenly care for my safety, Tucker?"

"Since you grew tits."

"Small, tiny, same size as poached egg tits."

"Still tits."

Either way I accepted, excited by the offer that hung in the air. Ready to pouch at each moment my parents and I spend together. Not that I minded much, I kept a stable hold on the conversations we shared, making sure they never progressed far when my friends or school life were mentioned.

I managed to slip out the house the following day with Kenny and the two of us ventured into town together. Between the two of us, we managed to gather some bits and pieces for his mother, whose birthday is on the 16th, and to get Clyde something. Turning up empty handed doesn't look good, but picking up a CD of one his favourite bands was easier than expected.

We bumped into Craig who was at Harbucks, our local coffee shop run by Tweek's family. He was talking to Tweek, it didn't look like anything important as Tweek was still on duty; we moved to a booth after Tweek had left and spoke for a while.

Ordering drinks and chatting mindlessly, we discovered that Kenny still didn't have anything for his mother that was big and expensive and both he and Craig hadn't brought Clyde something yet.

We decided to team up, wandering around town until we came across a Hot Topic, all three of aren't that keen of the shop, but we hobbled in anyway. Craig buys Clyde some lame shitty emo thing to piss him off, and then we leave. Ignoring the neon's and black clothing that hang around the store.

Kenny stops at a corner shop and buys Clyde some of those naughty magazines with the woman sprawled out on the pages in panties and stockings. Even as a boy I never really took interest in those sort of things, I've was too enveloped in school work and the general South Park shenanigans.

But as we catch the bus home, the idea of having those kind of magazines in a bag that Kenny's holding is making me feel weird.

**Just because you've adjusted, doesn't mean you're comfortable.**

**(I said ****_'Panties and Stockings' _****and it's a show and it's so fucking badass and cool and everyone should go and watch it!) **

**Review!**


	5. 12th June, 2005

**Chapter Five.**

12th June, 2005.

As promised I was picked up by the fabulous Craig Tucker, who walked with me to Clyde's house. Although was easier to locate which house was Clyde's from the angry neighbours, loud music, overflowing people and flashing lights.

I'm going to go straight into part number four, as I haven't got much to add here other than the party was amazing and I did everything I told myself I wasn't going to do, even the mother finding out bit, whoops.

_Part Four. _

Once inside the heaving household, I was pulled aside by Bebe who, once in the Kitchen along Stan, Cartman and Kenny (and a few other North Park lad's that I faintly recognised) offered me a small smile and a glass bottle with a bright blue liquid swirling around inside, knowing Bebe and her infectious ways, the night wasn't to go as planned. I accepted with an anxious look, I've never been drunk before. Of course, I've stolen a drink or two from my parents and shared them with the guys, but I've never been out of it.

Unfortunately, she wouldn't let me back down, urging me on with "Its only four percent, it's fine, you can't get drunk of it, _well_, unless you have loads and you're a total lightweight."

I am **not** a lightweight, thank you very much.

I began to sip at the sweet blue liquid, the alcoholic tang wasn't there as it was mostly an overbearing sweet bubble gum flavour. Much to my distaste as I've never really been a bubble gum person. _Shame, isn't it Stew._

I drank it all, and then drank another because the more I drunk the better it tasted. "Proper alcohpop that." She giggled, taking the now empty bottle and placing it with the other two. "Three rules you need to abide by tonight, everyone does. Got it?" I nod. "Right, good. 1. Do not leave your drink, always hold onto it. Got that?" I nod, again. "2. Don't talk to strangers, stick with the people you know."

"Uh, okay? I don't really see anyone here I don't know though."

"No, you know them, but not well enough – don't get touchy with them, ok?"

"Yes, Ma'am!"

She laughed. "Good, now final rule; don't leave without telling three people. Three rules, three people. Three WKD's you've had and now we're going deeper!"

She cheered, waving her hips to the music as she made me up another drink, soon a transparent liquid was offered to me, obviously by the way we started out, it wasn't water. _Oh god, anything but_.

Vodka, she had me drinking vodka. Smirnoff, Jack Daniels, the lot of it. Anything she could find before dragging me towards a giant ring circle that had sprouted between my 11th and 12th shot. We stumbled into a sitting position, letting the game roll.

It was spin the bottle, nothing exciting, nothing new – same old, same old. Whoever spun had to kiss whoever it landed on, then the person it landed it on would spin. If it landed on the same person as before (rare but happening) they'd make out.

Craig had vanished, Kenny had reappeared. The game was light and it hadn't landed on me. So I let it play out, knowing I'd probably hate myself in the morning (Fun fact: I did, and still do.), it still hadn't landed on me and I was slightly restless, wanting the lid to point at me and dictate me their kiss.

Soon, it did landed on me, with a drunk looking Bebe staring at me intently, suddenly feeling conscious and letting the adrenaline pump through me, I leant forward – eyes slipping closed and wanting to get this over with.

She hovered over my mouth before planting a kiss softly on my lips, she lingered before pulling back. Smiling dumbly as whistles sounded, I blushed. It had felt nice.

Stewart, it probably didn't — I was drunk, _remember_.

I had to spin the bottle next, letting it land on Mr McCormick himself. Wiggling his eyebrows at me he leant in, kissing me sweetly before pulling away.

Kissing is weird. I don't know. This is probably why I like to avoid contact with my lips.

The night played out with a load of dancing, chatting and flirting. Although when Craig finally caught hold of me, he did let me tell three people I was going home, even if he didn't let go of my hand. His breath was laced in alcohol and smoke but he wasn't half as drunk as I was.

_Maybe I truly am I lightweight._

Bebe, Butters, Stan. I told them three and they nodded, all giving me a 'be safe, don't do anything stupid, call me in the morning' chat. I stumbled wildly down the road, Craig continuously having to _'sh'_ me for being too loud. I wasn't though, he was just being paranoid.

I don't remember much of the night but I have pinpointed these moments and have put them into chronological order. I guess that night was fun and maybe I was too drunk, and maybe I was too loud.

But probably, in the most common situation; I _thrived_.

_Maybe._

I didn't thrive for too long, because after waking up with a ranging headache, I found out I was in none other's house than _Craig Mother Fucking Tucker's_. Ironic. My rules were: Don't get drunk, don't wake up in someone else's bed, and don't let my mother find out.

Ah, the last one isn't even worth the paper it's written on. She had called numerous times throughout the course of the night and I had answered when I returned to Craig's house. He ended up talking to my mum for me and I just knew that when I got home it be World War 3.

It wasn't, just World War 2 and a half. Possibly three quarters if you want me to go into detail about it.

Once I had woken up from being uncomfortable, I was met with Craig's gaze. He sat on the floor looking amused, cup planted to his lips to his lips. Laptop screen shinning and reflecting of his glasses.

He laughed at me when I grumbled about my head, and after reentering the room with a flannel and a glass of ice cold water, he pressed the cold fabric to my head after folding it. Bringing in a large bowl to dip it in to keep it fresh and cold.

"Lightweight." He called after me when he left to get me paracetamol.

"Fuck you, Tucker!" I screamed back.

_"Language!" _His parents called back.

I swear I could hear him laughing from down there. _Arsehole_.

* * *

><p><strong>I'm going through a tough time with my title, you guys need to give me some good ideas.<strong>


	6. 22nd June, 2005

**Chapter six.**

22nd June, 2005.

It's funny, when you think about it. A part of me somewhat didn't believe that on the inside, I'm a girl too, that part of me couldn't explain the height loss, or the boobs, nor the vagina and sudden voice change. But that part of me was wrong.

It's scary to think that today I woke up in a pool of my own blood and tissue. It's also to think that that part of me was wrong. It was fruitless to even believe that that maybe this was all some cruel practical joke.

When I realised I was still _bleeding_, I cried. I cried and cried that my mother came in to wonder what I was making all this fuss about. She set off instantly, cleaning me up and going through what I would need to do. She changed my bedding and slipped me paracetamol. "This is probably why you've been having bellyaches" she mentioned as she let me take the day off and dream under clean covers.

I texted Bebe, who congratulated me on my coming of womanhood. I then texted Stan to tell him I wouldn't be in today, not wanting to press the issue. I merely comforted him, saying that I was ill and I wouldn't be attending. I didn't want him questioning further; this, however resulted in a very antsy Stan at 7 O'clock in the morning.

_Part five._

"Ky, Ky" I heard Stan's voice as he pounded up my stairs, he sounded very worried and very out of breath, ripping open the door and striding hurriedly towards me, instantly dumping dumping different brands of medication onto my bed. He fished around, scouting for a thermometer.

"Oh my G- Stan! Stop! seriously, dude — I'm fine, I swear. I'm not ill, Stan." Stan gets a little sensitive about my health, he knows I was a sickly child, and I think he thinks that with the sudden change within me, my body will react and reject the new parts within me. _He's scared._

But it's okay to be scared. We all get scared.

However, this is a bit of an overreaction.

"I'm _fine_" I reassure again, waving my arms around to prove that I am the picture of health. I don't think he believes me though, as his eyes are still searching for a thermometer. I think he finds it because he cannot now take his eyes of a particular part of my bedding.

I sigh, spotting it and reaching out for it. Gently, I place it on my forehead and it seems to settle Stan greatly. "So, why are you taking the day off?" He asks vaguely, looking concerned.

"Uh, girl things?" I return weakly, because I cannot flat out tell Stan that it is in fact _that thing_.

"Is it those sort of girly things?" He asks, looking both uncertain and cautious as he eyes my hidden lower half. I nod, confirming that it is indeed those sort of girly things.

Somehow, Stan convinces my Ma that taking the day off with me will be very beneficial and rewarding. If Stan stays off to look after me, Ma can go to work and I'm still being looked after. He states he understands because if Shelly and his mother, also he is more than willing to help a friend out.

All he has to do is pout a little, and flash his big blue eyes at Ma and she's a sucker for him. I wish it was that simple for me too.

So, Ma leaves and Stan and I are left to our own devices, we decide to have a movie day, so Stan leaves with the intention of buying diabetic ice cream and popcorn, and I set off getting dressed and bringing a few pillows and blankets down from my room.

I'm already looking through my DVD stand, when Stan comes in, holding more than should have. He just smiles and I go with the flow, asking him if there's is particular film he wants to watch.

"Think fast." Is all he says before throwing a DVD at me. _Kiss Kiss Bang Bang_ stares back up at me. I'm a sucker for action films and Stan knows it.

"I was thinking after we could watch _Borne Supremacy_" Stan says, pouring two glasses of diet coke and reentering the lounge with food shoved between his arms and balanced on top of his glass.

The film story line is about a murder that brings a private eye, a criminal masquerading as an actor, and a struggling actress together. It's has a comedy action ring to it, but it's thoroughly good.

Once the credits begin rolling, I excuse myself and when I return I find Stan fishing around trying to find _The Borne Supremacy_. "You know what I was just thinking about, that trip in the holidays — Ma said it'll be nice, but we haven't planned much. Like who's the forth camper, because it sure as he'll isn't going to be Cartman"

"Why not that Kip kid, you know; the one that fantasies about you. I'm pretty sure he took a picture of you the other day at school."

"Oh God, dude that's gross, he scares me."

Stan laughs, "I know, I remember you getting Ken to give you his jumper so he wouldn't notice you" I smile, remembering the memory myself.

Suddenly, we're talking about the past and we're talking about past relationships, I try to avoid mentioning about Rebecca, instead I try to focus my conversation around Juliet. In my last year of elementary she caught my eye. It wasn't like she was gorgeous or she was developed or anything. I mean she had greasy hair and flat face. But she was elegant and graceful. She was smart and funny and I remember in the summer she would pick up snails from the path and place them on the green so no one would squish them.

I suppose, to me personality makes someone good looking or not — funny as it sounds. I used to think Juliet was gorgeous, with her dark flat hair and big brown eyes. She was taller than me, but that's understandable, she was hitting puberty and I wasn't even trying to punch it.

"Dude, do you remember Dan?" I mention suddenly, because now I remember the only person I felt the same way about like I did with Juliet.

"Yeah, he moved to Orlando, didn't he?"

"Yeah," I murmur. "We kissed, you know. I mean it was never anything official but we fooled around" I almost smile at the memories of Daniel. We were about fifteen and he has moved from Missouri. We instantly clicked and suddenly I was finding it hard to be without him. It wasn't like he was particularly nice and snail-friendly like Juliet was. He was just as smart and witty though. He was just kind of there and I led myself to believe that he was perfect.

I still kind of believe it.

"Fooled around? Like...?" Stan asks in a playful voice, poking my side in the process. He's got this cheeky smile on his face and I have to smile back.

"Dude," I breath at Stan's cheeky tone. "If you really want to know, we was at his house and I was sitting in the floor between his legs and he was playing with my hair and yeah. I gave the dude head."

"Aw, _cuties_. And here I was thinking you were the prude of the group." I mean Dan and I never full on made out, well we once did. But it was slow and steady and sweet.

We had spent the night out at Stark's pond, he had managed to sneak a bottle of red out. We never got round to drinking it though, instead we went ice skating in the dark and had a snowball fight and he dived on top of me, trying to shove snow down my back and I managed to turn the tables, sitting on top of him triumphantly. However, he still had my hands and he pulled me down.

That wasn't the first time we had kissed, in fact it was one of our last. It's silly, Stu. How much you remember someone who was only in your life for a couple of months. His dad had one of those jobs, the one where you have to travel a lot.

I never believed I was gay, even when we were kinda together. I mean he was no Juliet with hobbit feet and a permanent wet patch under her nose from how much she would constantly lick her lips. They had the same brown eyes though, soft and forgiving. Same browny black hair as well. I have a thing for brunettes. _Maybe_.

I never kissed anyone after he left, I mean, I felt distraught. The day he was leaving he asked me to see him off, but I didn't go. I couldn't face watching him leave. So, he came to me. Kissed me over my face; my nose, my cheeks, my forehead, my lips. He whispered '_I love you'_ and then disappeared. I never contacted him again, I don't miss him as much as I did. _It was a_ _fling_. Something to smile about and tell your children.

I mean, if he saw me now, he would call me a liar and leave. I think he was gay, I don't think I was. I'm happy he exists, and I'm happy he existed in my timeline too. But flings are born to die.

"Stan, are you going to put on _The Borne Supremacy_, or am I?"

And I'm content with that. I have a new life to lead.

* * *

><p><strong>I am so sorry about my absence, it is entirely my fault. I didn't know what to write, and when I did my laptop broke, so when I fixed it the internet decided to fuck off and now my laptop is literally dog poo.<strong>

**Anyway, you'll understand the whole Dan thing later, and don't worry — Kyla is still main prude. **

**Hope you're enjoying it.**


	7. 17th June, 2005

**Chapter seven.**

17th June, 2005.

You guessed it; I am a fuck up, the most giant literal fuck up that has ever fucked up something so unfuckable that they're willing to give me an award and a place in the development of science. So much of a fuck up that they claim I'll be bigger than Dolly, the fucking _clone sheep_.

By 'they' I mainly mean Mephisto. Who has arrived at my household to deliver a message that the average slice of bread could had figured out if it told me what has happened to me.

I'm one of a kind. However Stew, here's the catch; they want to make more like me. More people want physical sex changes, not just eternal ones. Dr Mephisto claims that what has happened to me could change science history forever.

Well isn't that fucking fantastic.

Mephisto announced that after my exams he wants to do some more experiments on me and pretty much fuck me up a little bit more. He says that I could have male hormones within me, trying to repopulate and yeah, my insides could go to war and I'd probably die.

So I have to become his lab rat for a few weeks whilst I take some meds and become a fucking hippy.

High on these pissy drugs he created and subscribing to me.

This story is too good of an opportunity to not write about.

_Part Six._

Waiting patiently for my mother and Mephisto to stop arguing about the whole situation, Craig and I sit in the lounge playing the new Fifa game on my PlayStation before we're once again called into the kitchen to discuss the 'dilemma'.

"Kyla, Bubby, this is for you, ok? I want you to get well – I don't want my little angel to die!" my mother starts with a quivering lip, looking at me with big green eyes and smiling sadly. Mephisto's own beady grey eyes stare down upon me also, taking in everything. Registering everything.

"Miss Broflovski – with these tests I can transform you into the perfect being. Alter your voice, your metabolism – even your natural breast size! I know that there will be some major cutbacks during this experiment, but please!" he is begging now, his voice pleading for me to accept "we can help you! Improve your well being, please accept this life changing offer!"

Even Craig is looking at me with sweat on his brow, breathing intensely as the severity of the 'major cutbacks'.

"What are the pills?" I question – how can I accept something I know so little about?

"I made them! They kill of the bad hormones, keep the right ones. They used to affect and damage the DNA but I figured how to change it, different proportions of ingredients alter different things. Cool right?" he's talking to me like I don't know a thing about chemistry, but I suppose compared to him I don't.

"Fine. I'm in – only if you alter everything I hate and make me sound really cool to the press."

"Seriously, you're worried about sounding alright to the press?" Craig chimes in, this is the first thing he's said since we've re-entered the room. I look at him slyly. Stew, of course I want to sound like a decent being towards the press.

Somehow the story hasn't hit the internet; most people believe I've had a sex change, which is both wrong and insulting.

I sigh, he wants me to develop a list of everything I want to change and give it to him by tomorrow. My mother looks terrified and excited at the same time. "Please don't get rid of your red hair, baby." She mentions, as I turn to leave.

Craig and I decide doing this around my mother will result in what she wants and not what I want. Therefore we venture towards his house. He lives a few streets away, but with the idea of creating a new me, I feel a bubble of excitement. Every part of me shakes with adrenaline as we trek towards Craig's home.

When we get there, both his dad and Ruby are waiting for us. They're sitting down playing a video game together, it's a child game and its obvious Mr Tucker is dying for an excuse to stop playing it.

He gets up immediately to shake my hand and greet me. His orange tuffs bouncing upon his head and he smiles warming at me.

"Ah, you must be the marvellous Miss Broflovski I've heard so much about!"

"Dad" Craig chimes in groaning. To be honest with you Stewart, it was more of a _'daaaaaaaaad'_ sort of sound, but I hope you get what I am on about.

His dad nods at him and let's go of my hand, letting us pass through the lounge and head upstairs towards his bedroom; we immediately grab supplies and begin brainstorming.

"Uh… Hm" Craig muses out loud, tapping a pen to his chin. "Bigger tits" he states out loud in a monotone fashion.

"Write it down then" I fuss, feeling flush and embarrassed. "Oh, and write down slow metabolism as well, please!" I add quickly.

"Gotcha." He says absent mindedly, scribbling down onto a small notebook we had found. "What about smaller hands, you've got big meaty ones."

"I so do not" I say defensively. Examining my hand and grabbing his to place it on mine. To prove the point about how small my hands are I point out that he can curl the top of his fingers of mine. He does so, entwining our fingers and just holding them there together, our hands fall slumped onto his bed as they cling to each other.

"Smaller nose? Is that one possible?" I ask. Craig shrugs, unsure himself. He still adds it to the list.

"Can I write down bigger butt or is that prohibited."

"Prohibited" I respond, starring at him with raised eyebrows. "Big tits, big ass? I'll be a mess" I mention, laughing slightly as he tightens the grip on my hand.

"I lo-" he starts, but I push him off the bed, he lands with a thump that probably resonated around the house. His dad doesn't shout up though.

Stew, I've forgotten to tell you about our game.

"It's not romantic, asshole!" I mention, grabbing the paper and reading through what we've written.

For the last couple of weeks, Craig has been trying to confess to me, each time I will push him away or hit him – anything to cut off his words, and then mention that it's not romantic.

It first happened when we were walking to the local Chinese takeaway. We were seated, waiting for our order to be called out to be collected when he tried to blurt it out. I kicked his shin and lectured him about how he had to be romantic, and how he cannot just admit it to me in the middle of a takeaway. It's tacky, Stewart.

We take the short tacky list to Mephisto, and he tries to offer us in, which is terrifying and I try not to make a deal, but I declined. Look what happened the last time I went in there?

Craig walks me home and I still feel a little dumbstruck, he makes a deal of kissing my forehead tonight and I can still feel his lips resting upon my head. The gesture's sweet, sentimental, pure. I am loving every minute of it.


	8. 1st July, 2005

**Chapter Eight. **

1st July, 2005.

PINCH PUNCH FIRST DAY OF THE MONTH! (No returns, Stew).

Unlike every other time I try to do this, it fails. Which basically means, unfortunately I have missed every chance to say this to you, which is pretty lame but who cares? Not me!

So, yes; happy first month day.

And yes, happy last exam day.

That's right, Mr Diary, I the amazing Ginger, Jersey, Jew has completed their exams. Who would've known it would take up all my free time, the majority of my life and slightly some of our time, Stew. But aha! Those tedious hours of remembering Pythagoras, and physics has paid off, I am free as a bird, high as a kite.

I completed my last exam this morning, I was free to be of absence for the rest of the day, but I, along with a few other classmates, waited for the rest of the examinee's to finish writing their final sentences and join us as Whistlin' Willy's pizza parlour, where we have decided to eat the place dry. The owner, Mr Whistlin' Willy himself has taken a shine to me and my friends. We only have to mention we _might_ be attending and he'll clean the seats, use his best sauce and give us a 10% discount. It's probably because we're the only teenagers that still attend since we were small children.

I don't care though; his pizza's the fucking bomb.

_Part Seven._

So, here I am; causally sitting with Kenny McCormick, talking about the best natural boob size to be and if I should start wearing lipstick.

The answer to that, Stew – is yes. Ken has a supplier and a colour in mind. _Peachy_.

When Craig, Stan and a few others including Bebe appear in the library door, looking slumped and slightly brain dead, we pack up our stuff, wish the librarian a hushed goodbye and make our way towards Willy's.

Once we arrive, Willy slips us a few watered down alcoholic drinks as he serves his pizza to us – one the house. Dare I mention.

"Well, y'all just did yer exams? S'fine – not like I'm makin' bucks anywa' might I add" he adds, lookin' around the near empty parlour. It is around 2:00, meaning most children are in school and most adults are working.

"Hey, Mr Willy. Can you play our mix tape?" Clyde mentions gladly from down the table, instantly, Willy lightens up. Smiling broadly at us all as he retreats away from the table and towards the kitchen.

"Thought yer kids would neve' ask!" he says, playing the mix tape, Brittany Spear's Toxic hits the speakers, and although a few years old now, and a little tacky, we sing and laugh. The empty restaurant doesn't feel so lonely anymore.

Situated between Craig and Stan, I ask if they have anything else, Stan calls Willy over, and he guides me to his back room, letting me dig through CD after CD until I find gold in the rubble. Illinois by Sufjan Stevens. Calling out to everyone at the table, they cheer, demanding I play it. The first song that sounds is 'Concerning the UFO sighting near highland, Illinois. The song isn't as fast and hyperactive as Clyde's mix tap but it has a nice ring. The minute Sufjans Stevens' voice sounds everyone around the large table sings with all of their heart. Melodies pouring into the parlour's air and Stew, I wish you had ears, so you could hear it. It was beautiful.

I sat back down between Craig and Stan. Craig had leaned ever so slightly towards me, leaning his leg on me and planting his hand gently on my leg, running circles with his thumb and singing into my ear. Singing to me and only me, I look at him, swaying to the music and singing alone. He presses his lips ever so slightly against my cheek, I know what he whispers against it, and then he begins to sing the lyrics from the 'Predatory Wasp of the Palisades is Out to Get Us!'

'I can't explain the state that I'm in,  
>The state of my heart, he was my best friend'<br>Into the car, from the back seat  
>Oh admiration in falling asleep<br>All of my powers, day after day  
>I can tell you, we swaggered and swayed<br>Deep in the tower, the prairies below  
>I can tell you, the telling gets old<br>Terrible sting and terrible storm  
>I can tell you the day we were born<br>My friend is gone, he ran away  
>I can tell you, I love him each day<br>Though we have sparred, wrestled and raged  
>I can tell you I love him each day<br>Terrible sting, terrible storm  
>I can tell you...'<p>

Then, just like that, his scent is gone and I am left with a cold patch on my leg as he removes his hand and returns eating. I give him a sideward's glance, "you're still not allowed to say it." I murmur, he doesn't acknowledge hearing me other than a soft smile.

I'm okay with that, I like the pizza, the songs, my friends gathered around a table singing and laughing and remising about the past, I like listening to Stan tell Wendy how beautiful she is, I like watching Bebe and Clyde laugh so hard at a pepperoni slice in Clyde's drink. I like looking at Craig, I like the touches, the scent, the way he looks, talks. I like him.

And I'm okay with that.

**This is just a short filler chapter because I got so many reviews that I want to express my gratitude. Someone asked that if this pairing would be Cryle or Cryla, that's for you to decide my friends. I literally chose the best album from 2005 and its actually pretty mellow and cool if any of you want to listen to it.**

**Four more reviews and I will have more already than I did on my first story. It would mean a lot to me if I could get more than I did on my first version – it would mean that I have improved and honestly that means a lot to me. **

**Changing name once again (to blinks) because I'm an inconsiderate fuck who doesn't give a shit on a shingle. **

**u wot m8?1?**


	9. 5th July, 2005

**Chapter Nine**

5th July, 2005.

Today, like most days I am going to Craig's house, I have been here for the majority of the week and I think I will most likely stay here for the remainder of it. On Saturday I will become Mephisto's pin cushion, which is fun. And Stew, but fun I mean daunting and terrifying and oh shit I wet the bed sort of fun. Craig has been supportive enough, trying to squeeze in a full 'I love you' but he hasn't succeeded yet.

I've already written myself a will and a goodbye letter encase the whole thing goes downhill. Which it probably will. God.

Prey for me.

_Part Eight_

The fourth of July was not a success, it was boring and dull and just a few fireworks and a big dinner to fulfil the evening, I ended up venturing out to Stark's pond with Stan. Our families had decided to celebrate together and the idea of sitting with Randy drunk and Ma raving could've killed me quicker than Mephisto.

"Stan, I'm fucking terrified, what if I die?"

"You won't."

"You don't know that!" I shoot back, enraged suddenly by his calm demeanour, does he not care for my current living or dying situation? I feel like I'm eight again and lying on my bed, knowing that Cartman will never give me his kidney and that I'm going to die.

"I do!" Stan says calmly again, I choose to go with it, it's a night of celebration of course.

We sit and throw stones into the water, wanting them to bounce and glide across the water's edge, some do. However most don't and Stan is the only one that can really do it.

When it becomes too dark to actually see where the stones are hitting, we decide to call it a night.

"Mephisto doesn't mean you any harm, Ky."

"Doesn't mean that's not what's gonna happen, Stan. I'm just fucking terrified he'll get something wrong, or my body will react funny or I'll die!"

However, Stan refuses to acknowledge the fact that dying is actually an outcome. Fuck him, he's a pussy.

I won't tell Craig about it, not after the way we've been acting, flirting, kissing – practically anything couples do that doesn't go past groping and fondling. However, I am not ready yet to be renamed 'Craig's girl.' I suppose he's got a long wait ahead because I don't know if I'll ever be ready to be called that. When I went to his house today, we decided that we should pass the times watching films.

So after we had watched every Alien movie Craig's Dad's video collection had to offer, we turned to something else. A film called 'Ghost' we both thought it was so mixed SIFI, paranormal shit, but turns out it was the opposite. Two lovy dovy people, who like to do phallic things with clay. I'll pass.

We ended up going for a walk on the main street, filtering in and out of various shops. I realised that I'm probably going to be too ill for prom, but Craig says he'll take me even if it's my ashes. That is both creepy and cute; let's just hope that he'll be taking a full, intake breathing body. Which will be me, ps.

Even after ranting about how I'm not one for prom, my words slapped me in the face as I came face to face with the most beautiful dress on earth. A creamy white dress that falls straight and gives the illusion of a slim figure underneath, the dress is designed for legs. Let's face it. They're my best feature.

The dress is lacy and white and is kinda a turtle neck cut on it, it doesn't have sleeves and it would match the burgundy hair that curls around my face.

This dress is made for me, and even Craig can tell, because he is the one who looks at the price tag, pulls a face and says, perhaps if we both chip in, and maybe both of our parents too.

$300.

Can you believe it.

Me neither.

After depressingly leaving the store, then the town centre altogether, we rejoiced at mine. Finishing off the last Alien movie that Craig's Dad's collection was missing and eating an impressive amount of ice cream between us. Which won't be good for me in the long run.

He leaves with a kiss in front of Ike, who laughs and calls us gays, which ironically is kind of true.

He laughs against my skin as Ike turns to the kitchen, leaving us alone once again. His arms are around my waist and his fingertips trail circles into the dent where my spine lays. He breathes against my neck and my head turns and presses against his cheek in reaction to the tingly sensation. I sigh, pulling him closer and feeling him do the same.

"I'd say this is pretty romantic." He begins, trying to ebb the forbidden words into our moment.

"I don't think so." I respond, kissing him gently and pulling back.

What happens if I die, and leave this horribly, half written diary left in my place. If someone was to ever find it, well they'd be in for a treat! Joking.

I suppose the situation was quite romantic, and I suppose I wouldn't have stopped him saying _I love you_ if he had tried. I think I do now.

No, I know I do. He feels like safety and comfort, he feels like the softest bed, he feels like Ma's homemade pastries, he feels like warmth and belonging. He feels like home.

I suppose I am in love with that ass.

**_FIRST OF I AM SO SORRY I STOPPED WRITING THIS FOR AGES! I have been writing some serious stuff lately and it feels weird to return to this 12 year old style of writing, although I feel like I cannot let this story go until the complete end. _**

**_No I am not dead and No I am not stopping until this is done! This was written at 1;00 and I didn't proof read it or anything, this chapter is fucking awful and I'm not going to lie, I've lost all love I had for this piece. _**

**_Happy Halloween beautifuls xxxxxxxxxxxx_**


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